


Scene One

by Zara_Rose



Series: Random Scenes [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4193964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zara_Rose/pseuds/Zara_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a traumatic event, Ceara seeks comfort from Marc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scene One

**SCENE ONE**

Daylight had slipped away into darkness. Though the moon overhead was full and bright, it could not be seen through the ferocious storm clouds. A powerful thunderstorm had picked up nearly twenty minutes earlier. Marc Undercott trudged slowly from his kitchen to his living room, sighing heavily and carrying a bowl of popcorn. He flopped down onto the couch, resting his feet on the coffee table. As he reached for the television remote, the doorbell rang. Reluctantly, he rose to answer it.

She was a wreck. She was beautiful, but she was a wreck. Standing on his front porch in the pouring rain, Marc thought she couldn’t have been more beautiful. But when he saw her bare feet, torn dress, and tearstained face, a powerful urge to protect her rose in him. Though they’d been at odds with each other for the past several weeks, Marc didn’t hesitate to gather Ceara Locke into the safety of his arms. Sobbing, she collapsed against him, and Marc didn’t fail to notice that Ceara was shaking uncontrollably. Marc realized belatedly that not only did her skin feel cold to the touch, but whatever had frightened her still occupied her thoughts. Gently, Marc lifted her and carried her into the house. She didn’t protest. As he shut the door with his foot, the power went out, plunging the room into darkness.

Making his way across the room, Marc settled onto the couch once more, Ceara still wrapped firmly in his embrace. He remained silent, respecting her privacy by not asking questions, and softly stroked her hair. As they sat together on the couch, the storm began to lessen. Eventually, the power came back on.

“Marc,” Ceara began, her voice somewhat muffled against his chest, “would it be all right with you if I stayed here tonight?”

“Oh, Ceara, of course it’s all right,” Marc replied. “Why don’t you go take a hot shower? It’ll warm you up. I’ll find something dry for you to put on afterwards.”

“Okay. And thanks, Marc. I really appreciate this,” she said softly. Ceara stood up slowly, reluctant to leave the security of Marc’s arms. He rose as well, surprised when she reached for his hand. Ceara’s cheeks tinged a rosy pink as Marc led her down the hall.

*          *          *

Shortly thereafter, while Ceara was in the shower, she heard the door to the room open. She felt a sudden surge of fear rise in her before she realized that it was simply Marc putting dry clothes in the bathroom for her. Ceara waited until she heard the door close again before turning off the water and reaching for her towel. She dressed quickly and left the bathroom.

Marc was in the kitchen making tea when Ceara found him. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her appearance. She was wearing a pair of his sweatpants; too small for him, but too large for her. Ceara also wore one of Marc’s sweatshirts, also much too baggy for her small frame. Though her hair had been combed free of tangles, she hadn’t bothered to dry it.

“The storm stopped,” Marc said quietly. “The wind has died down, too, and it’s just raining slightly now.”

Ceara didn’t say anything, but merely stood at the kitchen window, watching the rain as it fell in Marc’s backyard. The teakettle whistled loudly from the stove. Ceara moved to get it, limping slightly.

“You’re hurt,” Marc stated matter-of-factly.

“I just twisted my ankle a little earlier. I’ll be fine.”

“Go sit down at the table.”

“I really don’t –” she began.

“Ceara,” he interrupted gently. “Please.”

“Okay,” she sighed. Ceara hobbled to the kitchen table, grateful to be able to take the weight off her foot. Though she’d tried to deny it, her ankle did hurt.

Marc set a mug of tea in front of her. “Tea with milk, just the way you like it.”

“Thanks, Marc.”

“Sure. I’ll be back in a minute.” He left the kitchen before she could protest.

When he returned after a few moments, Marc was carrying a small, white box. Ceara recognized it immediately to be the first aid kit he kept in his bathroom closet. He set the kit down on the table, walked to the freezer, and took out an icepack. “Put your foot up.”

Ceara complied readily, hoisting her left foot onto the chair Marc pulled out for her.

Using a kitchen towel as a buffer, Marc first took the icepack and wrapped it around Ceara’s already-swelling ankle. Then, he grabbed the bottle of peroxide. Using a cotton ball, he carefully swabbed the abrasions on the bottom of her foot. Seeing Ceara’s wince, Marc stopped his ministrations. “I’m sorry. I know this stings.”

“It’s all right,” Ceara replied, her voice strained slightly. “It needs to be done.”

“I’m almost finished.” Seconds after saying that, Marc tossed the cotton ball into the garbage can and reached for the gauze pads. After applying a light coat of antiseptic, he taped the gauze securely to the bottom of her foot. Though Marc was desperately curious to know what had happened to his longtime friend that night, he would not directly ask her. He respected her privacy, and he knew her well enough to know that she would not tell him unless she wanted to.

Ceara’s thoughts wavered between the events of the evening and the kindness her friend was showing her. She and Marc had been at odds with one another since Daren, a new manager at the coffee shop where they worked, had expressed interest in her nearly two weeks before. Ceara clutched her mug in her hands, staring at the hot liquid as though the tea held the words she needed. When she spoke, Ceara’s voice was barely audible. “You know that Daren and I went to dinner tonight, right?”

“Yes.” Marc replaced the gauze in the first aid kit and sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor directly in front of Ceara.

“Well, dinner was pleasant enough. Afterwards, he invited me to his apartment to watch an old movie that was playing on television tonight. I had a decent time with him earlier, so I agreed. But then, Daren kept making suggestive comments to me. They were really disturbing. But he was so charming earlier. I should’ve known better. Anyway, as we were walking, he threw his arm around me and pulled me towards him. Somehow, he –” Ceara closed her eyes and took a deep breath before starting again. “He managed to get his hand down the front of my dress. He grabbed me, Marc. It was awful. I had to get away. Daren came after me. He wanted to take what I wouldn’t give him. He grabbed me roughly, tore my dress. I kicked off my shoes so I could run away – heels aren’t very efficient for that, you know – and turned away from him. I think that’s when I twisted my ankle and got the cuts on my foot. It hurt, but I needed to get away. That was more important. Marc, I honestly feared for my life. I knew you lived nearby, and I was hoping you would help me. And the storm came out of nowhere, and I got caught in it. I think you know the rest.”

Marc hadn’t said anything while Ceara told her story. He’d listened carefully, his anger at Daren boiling his blood. But Daren could wait until later; Ceara needed him then. Moving slowly and deliberately, Marc kneeled directly in front of Ceara. He took the mug from her hands, then took her hands in his own. Looking her squarely in the eye, Marc asked quietly, “Did he hurt you anywhere else?”

Ceara knew immediately what Marc meant. His concern for her welfare was nearly tangible, and it both frightened and comforted Ceara. Mutely, she shook her head.

“Good.” The relief was evident in Marc’s eyes. Standing up, Marc took an elastic bandage from the first aid kit. He removed the icepack from Ceara’s ankle, pleased to see that the swelling had subsided somewhat. Marc carefully wrapped the elastic bandage around Ceara’s ankle, protecting it from unnecessary movement. Offering his hand to her, Marc pulled Ceara to her feet. “Come on, it’s late. You should get some sleep.”

“So should you.”

“All right, but you take my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Ceara joked. She followed him to his bedroom and let him tuck her in.

“Goodnight, Ceara,” Marc whispered, dropping a feather-light kiss on her forehead.

“Night,” she mumbled, burrowing into the warm sheets. Marc had almost reached the doorway before she called out to him. “Marc? Would you leave the door half-open for me please?”

“Of course.” He turned out the hall light as he passed it, then settled onto the couch in the living room.

*          *          *

A few hours later, Marc awoke to hear strange noises. It took him a minute to regain his bearings and remember why he was sleeping on his couch. Upon recalling that Ceara slept in his bed, Marc pulled himself to his feet and went to check on her.

She was curled tightly in the fetal position, blankets kicked down by her feet. Though Ceara shivered slightly, it was the sound of her crying that woke Marc. It was a heartbroken, desperate sound.

Marc quickly crossed to the bed. As he reached down to pull up the blankets, Ceara looked over her shoulder to meet his eyes. The look in her eyes halted Marc’s actions. Instead, he climbed into the bed beside her, drew her into his embrace, and pulled the blankets up around them both. From the safety of Marc’s arms, Ceara cried herself to sleep. Only when her breathing had become steady and even did Marc allow himself to fall asleep.


End file.
